


Turbulent Reflections

by orelseatlastsheunderstoodit



Series: Reflections and Deflections [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orelseatlastsheunderstoodit/pseuds/orelseatlastsheunderstoodit
Summary: The fall of the Republic and the Imperial Civil War are topics of great interest to many. If we were to peek into the minds of key players in those events, what might we learn of their motivations and feelings?





	1. Palpatine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written pre-Revenge of the Sith in 2005 and published on TFN under the name Laine_Snowtrekker. These have been edited to be (mostly) canon compliant. Depends on your definition of canon in regards to Star Wars. (Also, my writing from over a decade ago was decidedly not as great as I thought it was in 2005.)

I am the epitome of what a Sith should be. I am better than any other Sith that has ever lived. I will continue to win, because without the strength to exert power over defenseless beings and Jedi, my life becomes meaningless. My hatred defines me, and I relish that definition. I am the absolute ruler of the galaxy and there is no one left to stop me. I deceived everyone from the very beginning, from that vote of no confidence in the Senate to that annoying Gungan’s proposal of the granting of emergency powers. They all fell for it, they all wanted to believe that they each care about other beings, but they do not. They want their full coffers, they want their smooth trade, they want luxury and comfort. They want podraces and nutrient packs, and I will deliver on that, and on so much more. But if anyone stands in my way, they will be removed.

The agent of that removal will be my new apprentice, Darth Vader. The boy is wreaking havoc on the Jedi, of which I am glad. My hatred of those sanctimonious old sops runs still and deep; there is no end to it. The Jedi forced us into hiding for so long that we cloaked ourselves and gained strength while they waned. It is the sweetest revenge that their Chosen One is now mine.

For he _is_ mine. Of that, have no doubt. Certainly he _thinks_ he's in control of his life. He's not. I am. Sure, I bequeathed power on him, but I can take as well as I can give. And he has no motivation to turn from my side. He has no one beyond me in this Galaxy, no one that he can love, no one that he can try to save, no one to awaken the Jedi smothered within him. The masses obey when power is wielded over them, especially the power to kill them. When people are afraid, they are easy to control.

The stupid Jedi neither could see nor stop me, but I do worry that Yoda and Kenobi are somewhere out in the Galaxy. So far, they have managed to escape death, but Vader will find them and dispose of them very nicely. I've always admired Lord Vader’s skill with the lightsaber.

Too bad I can't have Vader kill Organa. His traitorous intent is clear whenever he appears in the Senate, but we do not have _proof_. And we must have _proof_ for the Courts to act. That is, while the Courts still exist. Executing Organa or the other Rebels would make it seem to the public that I was getting rid of my enemies. I cannot do that until everything is firmly within my grasp. There are still whole star systems that have yet to fall in line with the Empire’s way of doing things—with my way of doing things.

Construction has been started on my ultimate weapon, the Death Star. Terror of my station will keep those unruly star systems in line, I'm sure. There will be peace. There will be prosperity. The Jedi will never return. The Rebellion will be quashed; it will not harm my Empire.

Everything is going as I have foreseen it.


	2. Vader

Some of my thoughts are as clear as the Tatooine sky; others as cloying as thick clouds of smoke and ash, a burning that never ends.

Is that any different than the life I’ve always had? I was _born_ different, actually. _Raised_ different. I was _meant_ to be special. And being special sets you apart.

But all I ever wanted was a normal life, a _happy_ life, where I would be free to be myself, to be with those I love, like Mom and  Padmé. Maybe even Obi-Wan. After all, he was like the father I never had. He expected too much of me, and he never loved me. He screamed that he loved me but he does not. He cannot. It’s too out of line with his precious Code.

But Obi-Wan is a liar, and what’s worse, he’s a Jedi. The Jedi were weak. Corrupt. Hypocritical old fools who never met a person they couldn’t craft into their tool. I was their tool, for so so long, and now I am free. They deceived the entire galaxy, and I am now correcting that wrong. I am freeing the galaxy from their flint-hearted, tight-fisted rule. It will be a peaceful galaxy because I will make it so. Even if I do so alone.

Because I am alone. Padmé. My wife. I miss her so _much_. She took my breath away, like a first dive into the cold waters of Naboo. She was shocking and refreshing at the same time—and that wasn’t just her beauty, but all of her, her body, her mind, her _soul_. We were meant to be together. When I was with her, I forgot everything, including myself. But she said repeated the lies that Obi-Wan had fed her, I know it, and I was so angry and Master said that I—that I—

No. No. I cannot think of that. That cannot matter. What has been done is done. _Nothing_ matters now. Besides, it’s _Obi-Wan’s_ fault. He’s the one who trained me, he’s the one who struck me down onto the burning ash of Mustafar, thinking I would live but I am alive, I am alone, and I have nothing save one thing, and one thing only. Power. Power, and it's all I'll ever have. And I am free to use it as I wish, to go where I wish, to do what I wish to do.

And who showed me this power but my Master? He showed me that I could be in control of my own life, that I could sever the link between myself and the Jedi, between the Jedi and the galaxy, and all for the greater good. I will do my Master’s bidding for he is the only one left who cares about me. Who did not hurt me when I was Anakin Skywalker. Who accepts me as is. He was the one who showed me how corrupt the Jedi were, the one who didn't try to force me to be different from who I really am, who wanted me to be as special as I was destined to be. I have sworn myself to his service, to rid the Galaxy of its filth, to right the wrongs that have been done in the name of progress and democracy. It's another chance to use my new lightsaber. I will serve the will of the Empire, and the Emperor who serves us all.

The Jedi must pay for all the lies they fed the galaxy. For my losses and the Empire's. But mainly for mine, for what I lost, for what they took from me. Why should I give the galaxy hope and peace, when I can't have it? When I can never have it?

The galaxy never did anything for me except take, take, take.

And I’m going to get what’s mine.


	3. Kenobi

Everything I have ever tried to be, I have failed to be. And I will have to live with those failures for however long my life spools out.

I was his trainer. Now the galaxy has to live with the consequences of our choices—his, yes, but also mine.I know I made mistakes. I know that better than I know anything else, now.

I was like his father. He even said so, once. All I can offer in my defense is, I tried to do my best. I was new at raising a youngling—and I was young, stupid, reckless, headstrong. Enough of all those things to defy the Council enough for them to change their minds. If Master Yoda had seen something different, something _specific_ , rather than vague wisps of fears and clouds of doubt, would I have taken him in? Would I have listened to the Council rather than my master? Somehow I doubt it. I was always meant to raise him, to fail at raising him to be a good Jedi. Perhaps more importantly, I failed to raise a good man.

I was his brother, too. We were a _team_. Kenobi and Skywalker, Skywalker and Kenobi. I am not one for over sentimentalizing things, but I did love him. I suppose that he couldn’t see it, couldn’t _feel_ it. Somehow I didn’t express it in the ways that he could see and feel. Where did I err? Why didn't I see the warning signs before it was too late? What I could have--should have--done differently? Did I refuse to see the problems in front of me? Was I distracted by the war, by duties on the Council, by my desire to protect others that I failed to protect him?

I had my suspicions about the pair of them, about Padmé and Anakin—but I didn’t want to see it. If he hadn't been a Jedi, and she, a senator, if they hadn’t had to live restrained by secrets and silence, then perhaps it would have been a relationship that worked. Perhaps I would have never seen my brother attack a pregnant woman, then. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to hold her hand as she named their children and died. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to grieve like this.

But I find myself strangely thankful for their clandestine marriage. At the very least, I may not be entirely fail at this second chance to shepherd Skywalkers at moving through the Force and the universe. But I cannot trust myself to raise them. Oh, no, I am too acutely aware of my failures as a parent, as a person, to raise them. Instead, the girl goes to Organa, and the boy to his aunt and uncle. As for me, unless the Force tells me differently, I've decided to relegate myself to the sand dunes of Tatooine. I’ll watch over the boy and his family from a distance, wait for a call from Organa that may never come.

I never thought I was one for hiding, but now I must think and act like the Sith have for centuries. Something Master Qui-Gon told me comes back: "Sometimes there is an alternative to fighting”—and that is where I find myself, amid the alternatives.

So, grow, little hopes. Grow up and you just might save the galaxy from Emperor Sidious and his new apprentice, Vader. You might even save your father from himself.

But I doubt he can be saved. I tried, and failed. Why would they—who won’t even know the man I knew, the man I loved—succeed where I failed?


	4. Organa

At last the Clone Wars are over, but at what cost? the Republic has fallen, the Empire has risen, the Jedi are being hunted to extinction. What cost has the end of this conflict wrought? Has the conflict even ended, or merely shifted?

Despite the various peoples of the Galaxy losing faith in democracy, that loss of faith should not have required a plunge into a dictatorship. Democracy only fails when the people fail to govern themselves. But here we are, living in an Empire that so many of us did not choose and were powerless to stop due to those damned emergency powers.

The Emperor has a new henchman named Vader running around and murdering Jedi under the guise of "war crimes". The only person or persons guilty of "war crimes" is Palpatine and the Empire. All that propaganda that he spewed out of Coruscant and all the lies that he told us, like that farce of an acceptance speech of emergency powers. He does not love democracy, or else he would foster it. He does not love the Republic, or else he would have sustained it. He had the option to listen to opposing voices, to the voices of the people, and he ignored us. He took one look at the Petition of 2000 and laughed. Laughed at the voice of so many peoples.

The Jedi had their flaws, yes, but they did care about the Galaxy. They served the Galaxy, selflessly choosing a life full of danger and hardship. They were not soldiers, but peacekeepers thrust into a war. Take General Kenobi, for instance. His exploits, undertaken to protect democracy, to protect the peoples of the Republic, are famous. (How quickly the Empire’s propaganda poisons the discourse.) Or Master Yoda. I would trust either one with my life, and they trust me with theirs. That is, of course, what has happened, especially now that there are so few Jedi left. And with Senator Amidala’s children to be cared for. I may not understand the ways of the Force, and I may not be able to move anything with my mind, but strategy is something I was raised to know. We Alderaanians may be peaceful, but we know that peace requires defenses.

Obi-Wan has taken Padmé’s boy to Tatooine, and her daughter comes with me to Alderaan. She will be loved with us, with myself and Breha. Master Yoda has indicated that he will disappear somewhere in the Outer Rim. Hopefully, we can keep Padmé’s children safe. The galaxy may not know it, nor care about it, but our hope lies in them, and in democracy. This dictatorship must be resisted, in any way, in every way. The Rebellion must grow in small cells, must work toward restoring democracy and freedom and hope to the galaxy. Mon and I will see this through. I only wish that Padmé could be right there along with us—if there was a time that we needed her voice, her ability to sway people to our cause, it is now, and we are bereft. Kenobi did not explain what happened to her, or to him, but there are some things in war that are hard to explain, that can never be explained. But one day, when I can, I will tell my daughter of her mother, tell her of her bravery, of her boldness, of her persistence, and her prevailing faith in the good of people. But I can only tell her this when we are no longer desperate, when we no longer must look over our shoulders, when we can once again breathe in a free Galaxy.

May that hour come soon, so that the Republic will be restored once again. May I live to see it.


	5. Owen Lars

Tatooine is so far away from everything, and there's always so much work to do that our lives are consumed with it. I've never dreamed that turmoil in other places would affect a rock like Tatooine. I never dreamed that the troubles that plague the wider galaxy would affect my family and myself.

Oh, it’s come close to us, yes. The Republic doesn’t exist out here, was a reminder my step-mother was known to repeat, and it’s just as true with the Empire, though the Empire’s reach is a bit longer, a bit sharper to those caught in its grasp. I’m no Rebel, but that’s because the sands here make it hard for rebellion to take root. It’s hard enough to scrape by, day after day, navigating planetary politics, staying out of the path of the Hutts, avoiding those who would bring the Empire’s fist down hard here. It’s hard to do anything except what must be done to get through each day. My life as a moisture farmer might be hard, but it's far from joyless. Still, there’s precious little room for dreams here; they’re essentially the drops left in a water bottle, the last bit left before the bottle is empty.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, my step-brother's Jedi master, arrived from some distant planet not too long ago. From Alderaan or Coruscant, I think. He said that the emperor's new lackey, Vader, had betrayed and murdered Anakin and that he had barely escaped with his life. He had brought with him a baby--Anakin's son. Then he asked Beru and me to take him and protect him. Kenobi also mentioned that the boy was Force-sensitive, whatever that means. Obi-Wan's eyes seemed old and haunted to me. He seemed much older than he looked.

We’d only met the kid's parents once, and that at the least best time. I told that wizard that I needed a damn good reason as to why I should take in another mouth to feed, when life here's hard anyway. He told me that I should because Vader would kill Luke if he found the child, and that Tatooine was the safest place to keep him. And the boy’s eyes—well, they’re full of life. They sparkle like Shmi’s eyes did, alight with the joy of living. Maybe I’m projecting too much on a mere babe, but there’s no way a man with eyes like Kenobi’s should care for a boy with eyes like Luke’s.

Well, I'll keep him safe. I promise.

I don't know many Jedi--I've only met two—and both of them have been driven by their emotions. Anakin—that wild, angry grief, which led him to slaughter an entire village of Tuskens. (Oh, yes, we heard of that, suffered raids because of that.) This Kenobi—a despair so deep he may never get out of it. I may not know the ins and out of politics beyond life on this rock, but I know life would be that much better if Anakin hadn't left this place to follow his dreams of living the damn fool idealistic life of a Jedi. Shmi missed him so much—I saw how much she longed to see him--but no, those crazy wizards took him away when he was a child. Then he gets killed in the middle of a war he had no place being in. What kind of fulfillment is that? What kind of joy is there in not having your dreams come true and your hopes soar? What joy is there when a young life is snuffed out by a murderous traitor?

I sent Kenobi away from the homestead. I really don't care where he goes, whether he lives or dies. There's no point in keeping him and his silly ideas about that Force thing around _my_ nephew. I'll protect little Luke as long as I'm able, and if that means shielding him from the wiles of some old Jedi nutcase, so be it. I don't want that Jedi to take him away. I don’t want the Empire to take him away, either. The boy is the last connection that I have to Shmi left. He deserves the life that Anakin never got to live. I will make sure that the galaxy's politics don't affect my family ever again.

We don't know how to raise a child, but I know I'll do my best. I love this little boy with all my heart, and I will do _anything_ to protect him. _Anything, including lie to him._


	6. Beru Whitesun Lars

I had such dreams when I was younger. Dreams of doing good, of changing things, of making things better. Mere flights of fancy, though. I had neither time nor funds enough to make such dreams come true. Not on this planet, anyway. We all learn early that Tatooine is not the place for cherishing dreams, for fostering hopes, for they only seem to fade under the blazing suns’ light or end up being crushed by the weight of the evil that exists in the universe. So I settled down with my Owen, and, soon after that, we received Luke. They are what brings the most happiness to my life. We have such comforts as hard work and a low profile provides us, and the world is full of small joys, of bright moments among the gathering gloom in the galaxy. It’s a hard life, but not an unhappy one. And I never thought that I would be able to raise a child, let alone a child like Luke.

He’s a five-year-old bundle of sunny optimism and energetic enthusiasm. He's full of light and love and happiness that everyone we know thinks that he’s a darling. It hasn't dawned on Luke yet that the world is harder, darker, far more joyless than he can imagine. But I do my best to shield him from that knowledge, just a little while longer. If only I could keep that sunny optimism from being clouded by that knowledge that we all come to hold. Just a little while longer, is all I ask. I imagine what it will be like when we tell him the truth about his father, about how dark this universe is—and I do not like what I imagine. But I’m glad to spare him that pain, for I can barely bear the thought of what that caped monster would do to him if Luke were found.

Owen forbid contact with the "crazy old wizard", for Luke's sake, but I go to Obi-Wan occasionally for help, for Luke's sake. I need to help Luke grow while keeping him safe, and if Luke _is_ Force-sensitive (whatever that really means), then the best person to advise us is that lonely man living out in the wastes. I only have Obi-Wan's word that Vader will never set foot on Tatooine. He said that with a pained look in his eyes--he seemed to know more than he let on. But let him have his secrets. I'm sure it's to protect us as well. Talking to Obi-Wan does explain the odd things Luke is able to do. And sometimes I learn a little about Anakin. From what I learn, I realize that Luke is indeed a Skywalker, and that will never change.

Regardless of who Luke’s parents _were_ (though Obi-Wan has never breathed a hint of who Luke’s _mother_ was, which, if anyone had asked me, I would have said that her identity was equally important), Luke should have as normal a life as possible. But that means I have to navigate Owen’s prickliness and Obi-Wan’s secretiveness and Luke’s dreams—all while keeping us safe from the Empire. That’s really what I’m afraid of, of the Empire’s agents dropping from the sky, or rolling up to the farm and taking us all in, taking Luke away from us. I try not to think of what would happen if they wanted _just_ Luke, and not us at all. We have heard rumors, out here on the edges of Imperial space, of people just disappearing, with no one knowing what happened to them, and I wonder, if we were ever found out, if we ever slipped up somehow, what would happen to us.

Because Luke is not a _normal_ child. He sometimes suddenly knows where missing things are, which Owen chalks up as a cover-up for him taking the items. But Luke is a good boy, and he would not take things without permission. Sometimes Luke knows how to fix things without ever seeing the machine, which Owen considers just plain luck. But I accept what Owen denies. He denies that the boy is special, that Luke needs special guidance, but I spend every day, all day, with him and I see what Owen cannot. That’s always been the case, you know. Owen’s a man of Tatooine, sunburned too many times to trust the sunscreen salesmen, a man of practical knowledge, who knows what he knows and what he doesn’t. I love him, but he doesn’t necessarily understand dreams.

I think Owen knows that I visit, and I think he allows it, for Luke's sake, especially as I do not mention the visits to Luke. But Owen’s the one who’s feeding Luke lies about his father, telling him that Anakin was a navigator on a spice freighter. Cliegg and Shmi always told us that the best way to live your life was honestly. This storytelling is not honest. An empty place is easier to fill than a place cluttered with things that don’t fit there, and someday Luke will have to compare the stories he’s been told with the truth, with the reality of the past, and what will he think of us then? I hope he knows that we love him, that I love him, that I want his dreams to come true.

Because even at the age of five, Luke has this habit of gazing at the binary sunset’s beauty. I know he must be dreaming of adventure, dreaming of excitement, dreaming of the future, dreaming of being somewhere other than here, and, perhaps, being someone other than who he is. From the stories Shmi told me, from the hints that Obi-Wan has dropped, Luke has too much of his father in him. He’s a Tatooinian with no desire to be here. I know that feeling. I know, because I once had it.

I wish that Luke will grow to see that Owen does indeed love him. And I want for Luke to keep his dreams, even if he lives on Tatooine his entire life. I hope that his hopes get stronger. I want a good life for him, and I will do anything to help and aid him. I do not want his optimism to fade, or for his hope to be lost, or for his dreams to be crushed. That’s my dream, now.

For dreaming is important. Even for those of us who've lost their dreams, and for those of us who’ve found new ones.


	7. Luke Skywalker

Moisture farming isn’t the life for me, I just _know_ it—cleaning broken evaporators, fixing broken droids, keeping a lookout for Tusken Raiders, living where gritty sand gets _everywhere_ , seeing stars only after the sun sets and the temperature ticks down a few degrees, from roasting to lightly searing. It’s just chores and boredom, boredom and chores, rarely punctuated with anything exciting. Nothing’s ever exciting on Tatooine.

I don't want to stay on this rock forever. I want to see the galaxy. I want to make a difference, to go places, to do things. To do good. To fight back against the Empire. It’s not as if it’s been good for anyone here on Tatooine. They pretend not to, but the Imperials work with the Hutts. They say there’s no slavery, but there is. Apparently it’s not as bad as back in the old days, my uncle says, but it’s still pretty bad. The stuff that the Imperials say they’re gonna do and what they actually do are two different things. They don’t care about us out here in the Outer Rim, no sir, and that’s gonna change. And I want to do something in my life, be someone important, do something important. Like change all the stuff that’s wrong with the Empire. Maybe get them to make good laws and treat people well, to look out for the little guys of the universe. That’s part of why I wanna go to the Academy—if I’ve got to work in the system to change the system, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna be a pilot, and I’m gonna get off this rock. I’m gonna change things. I hate the Empire, I really do, but I don’t see any options beyond the obvious: stay here and watch water condense, or join the Imperial Academy and see the stars.

Because except when I watch the sunset, I feel trapped here. But the sunset, and the stars that follow, all splashed across the night sky—well, when I see them, then I feel like maybe I'll find my way to them. I hang my head back and stare into the clear night sky, wondering if anyone has ever been to all the planets that circle around those twinkling spots of light. If they haven’t, I wanna be the first one to see them all.

I wonder sometimes about my parents. My biological ones, I mean. My aunt and uncle, they’ve been great parents for all nineteen seasons of my life, even if they don’t always understand me. But they haven’t really mentioned anything about where I come from—and I must come from somewhere other than here, somewhere other than Tatooine. Because I don’t think I was meant to live on Tatooine. Aunt Beru said once that I look a little like my father. Uncle Owen said that he came from Tatooine and was a navigator on a spice freighter. I wonder if he worked on the moons of Naboo--I've heard that there's spice mines there. I wonder where he met my mother. They've never mentioned her, where she was from, what she did with her life. I don't know a single thing about her. I get angry sometimes, wishing that my anger could bring them back to me, let them meet me, let me meet them. I've dreamed of what that meeting would be like, but you can't bring people back from the dead. Wishing for something won’t make it happen, Uncle Owen says, and he’s probably right. But sometimes I wonder what if—what if they’re still alive, what if they got lost, what if they forgot who they were and who I was to them, what if I could find them and restore their memories and bring them home.

I don’t understand why Uncle Owen doesn’t want me to go to the Imperial Academy. I want adventure, excitement, a chance to make a real impact. Anything different than what's here for me. I'd rather fly ships than chase swirling dust clouds. I'd rather race my friends through Beggar's Canyon than to sit at home and watch condensation gather. I want respect, I want something more than how my "friends" call me names and treat me like the dust under their speeders' repulsors. When will Uncle Owen going to stop treating me like I was a baby who needs his protection? When is he going to let me grow up? What in the universe is he trying to protect me from? Living my life? Nearly all of my friends have gone to the Academy, taken jobs with the Empire—or dropped out to join the Rebellion. At least, that’s what the whispers say. Is he trying to keep me from picking a side? Is he trying to keep me alive? But if it’s a war I have to fight in to make the Galaxy a better place, shouldn’t I fight in it? Why doesn’t Uncle Owen understand that about me?

Nobody understands—not my friends, not Aunt Beru, not Uncle Owen. Maybe not even that old Ben Kenobi, the one who lives out past the Dune Sea. Uncle Owen claims he’s dead now, but I’ve seen people old enough to be nearing the end of their lives, and that man wasn’t. Not when I met him, anyway. I won't ever forget that time, the only time I ever met him. I was only fifteen seasons old, and I'd just had a fight with my uncle over some lost tools. I'd suddenly found them, and he'd accused me of taking them. I hadn't; sometimes I get these glimpses in my mind of where things are, or of something someone’s done. I don't understand it--still don't. It irritates me to no end, and I think it irritates Uncle Owen, too, but I think he knows more about it than I do. But I'd driven away from the homestead, trying to find some place to think. I almost ran into this old man, who introduced himself as Ben Kenobi. He just stared at me like I was a ghost out of his past--he seemed like he was going to tell me something, but then my uncle rushed up in the other speeder and ordered me home. As I obeyed, I looked back to see this look of incredible hurt on the old man's face, all while my uncle chewed him out, even using some of the words I wasn't allowed to repeat at the time. Something about "Stay away from him, you crazy old wizard!" Every word seemed to be another blow to the old man, and he seemed to get older. Even if he didn’t look old enough to die. When we got home, I got a lecture from my uncle on staying away from strangers. But that's the thing—the old man seemed so familiar to me, like I had known him in a dream or something. I mentioned that, but my uncle dismissed it as nonsense and assured me that I didn’t know him. But I still wonder.

Uncle’s calling me to join him; apparently there’s some Jawas here to sell some droids. Maybe there’ll be something that will make the work around here better for my aunt and uncle, and then I can be off to see the stars.


	8. Leia Organa

My mission to bring General Kenobi to Alderaan failed. And Alderaan’s gone. My home, my family, my _parents_ —they're all gone now, just like Scarif, just like Jedha but on an even larger scale. I’ve _failed_. I failed my parents and my planet. Alderaan's _gone_. They made me watch it happen. And I can't ever bring it back. Oh, Alderaan! Why would they destroy an entire planet, an entire culture, an entire people? When others hear what was done to Alderaan, some will cower, and others will fight. But where will my people go? Who will they turn to? And what of the Rebellion? What hope is there now for it?

Father gave me a necklace for my nineteenth lifeday. It's a pretty little thing, a piece of carved material foreign to Alderaan, though I forget where it came from. He said it was a replica of a necklace owned by one of the Queens of Naboo, the one I’ve admired since I was ten. That was the Queen who’d also been a Senator, the woman who was friends with my father and worked hard to prevent the creation of the Empire, who presented the Petition of Two Thousand. They killed her for it, he told me later. Darth Vader even had a hand in her death. She must have been fearsome indeed, for them to have taken her out before they’d cemented their grip on the Senate. He’d told me that they’d stood together and watched as Palpatine became the Emperor, how disappointed she’d been that everything they’d worked so hard to achieve crumbled, how sad she was to see the end of the Republic, how determined she was to see its return. The Empire killed her because she was a independent, brilliant, bold, persistent woman.

I know what it’s like to stand in the Senate, to be a woman surrounded by rows of senatorial pods, by a myriad of faces and voices and cultures all trying to find consensus, to feel small and talk big, to be fierce and persistent, to never waver when in the right. To _do_ what’s right, even if that means saying one thing on the floor and another thing behind closed doors. To stand up for true justice, for liberty, for the sovereignty of planets, for all that made the Republic good and for nothing that made it weak. Oh, to be fifteen seasons old again! I'd just taken my father's spot as senator, and I hadn't been so jaded by the galaxy's evils then. The Senate was so huge, so filled with other beings, and I was so small. The Emperor intimidated me, and his right-hand man, Vader, scared me. Father said to never purposely go near either of them unless called into a meeting, but to not be frightened of them. So I acted like I wasn't intimidated, wasn't scared, and after time, I truly wasn't. Maybe that's what the true definition of courage, of being brave is—standing tall and still while your knees are shaking like trees in the wind.

Not that Emperor has made standing up for the right things easy, not that he hasn’t found ways to keep beings the Empire deems lesser from sending their delegates, not that he hasn’t found ways to undermine the democratic processes enshrined by the Senate. Being from Alderaan had its privileges; we’re culturally expected to be thorns in everyone’s moral sides, even Emperors. But before we jumped to Scarif, we’d received word that the Emperor had dissolved the Senate, delegating all the power to the Moffs. He doesn’t care if they’re cruel, or competent, as long as they’re compliant or complacent. Father was rightfully picky about our sector’s Moff—he’d rather a corrupt one he could manipulate than a by-the-book suck-up who’d turn anyone in as long as it gained him a pat on the head. Besides, a lazy Moff is one who never look for Rebels within a fully Imperial population. Alderaanis know— _knew_ —what it meant to fight for freedom and justice in the Galaxy; if we were the mountains, the Empire was the snow on the slopes. Underneath, the mountain does not change even as the snow shifts, piles up, melts. And mountains move, albeit slowly, and shrug off the snow before anyone can call avalanche.

When I learned about the scope of Vader's atrocities, of what the Empire was really like and not its shiny veneer, I searched out my father and promptly joined the Rebellion. He was hesitant to bring me into it, at first, because who would lead Alderaan if something happened to both of us? How could he protect me, his daughter, when he could not guarantee any Rebel’s safety? But I did not need his protection, not from that. Because our cause is one worth fighting for, even worth dying for. Resistance is worthwhile, even if it leads to my death. Tarkin's already signed the order, but I'm not afraid to die, because the Rebellion will live on after I am gone. Kill one Rebel, you gain two more. Kill a planet, and planets will join your cause. Words will win the day, yes, but so will actions.

Since I’m going to die sooner rather later, I admit that I do get scared sometimes. Scared of once again hearing Vader's long, deliberate strides down the cell block's corridor, scared of hearing the low hum of the mind probe hovering its way to my cell. I've resisted it so far, but I don't know how much longer I can hold out. I don't know what I'll do when I can't take it any longer. I'm scared of that. I’m scared of what will happen to the Rebellion after I am gone; it’s bigger than me, yes, but it’s so small and there’s so much I could have done if I hadn’t been captured. It’s as if I can sense the miasma of fear and apprehension that must linger here in the bowels of this space station, amplifying and feeding my own fears, making the thudding of boots echo in my scattered sleep, making that humming just a little bit louder.

I do not regret dying for the Rebellion, for the cause it espouses. After all, I knew what might be the cost when I signed on to be a Rebel. But I would have liked my parents to have gotten me a little brother--someone who'd play tricks on me and shove me into the royal fountains and run with me in the gardens of the Palace. Someone who I'd tease about his girlfriends, who'd tease me about my boyfriends, if I’d ever had any. More than a little brother, a friend. A good friend. But that was impossible when I was small, and it’s certainly impossible now.

And I would have liked to have the experience of loving someone with my whole being, with no thought given for who I was or what my role in all these schemes are—I’ve never given someone my entire heart, never let anyone break my heart, or steal it from me. That won’t happen now. Since the Empire's going to kill me anyway, I would have rather loved that someone deeply before I died, but that won’t happen now. I can't stop them from killing me—I’m not afraid to die, but I wasn't afraid to live either.

Nineteen seasons old, fierce, persistent, and dead long before she should have been. They probably won’t even give me a grave. It’d be just like the Empire to murder me and dump the corpse somewhere in order to start conspiratorial propaganda pieces about what befell me. Or to pretend that my ship had problems and lost all hands due to oxygen loss or some cheap lie like that. Good people served on the _Tantive IV_ ; I assume they were all killed when the Imperials took the ship. It’s increasingly been their habit to do that with Rebel ships. Not a day goes by without us losing a cell to disillusionment, to death, to other militant groups vying for people to join them and throw themselves into the cause.

If only this space station’s plans could be retrieved and taken to what’s left of the Rebel leadership—that’s if the plans in Artoo are still intact, if the sacrifices made on Scarif were not made in vain. Even if the plans are intact, I don't know how they could ever get to Yavin 4. I don't want to fail in seeing the Queen’s dream, my father's dream, _my dream_ , of having the Republic restored come true. But maybe I have already failed, and maybe the Rebellion will die, along with all the dreams we had for it, for the free peoples of the Galaxy. Maybe I will never live to see peace in the Galaxy. I pray that hope remains after I am gone.

In fact, it sounds as if someone is headed toward my cell. How should I respond? Should it be some bold statement, or something snarky? A gal only gets to die once, you know. Might as well see how well I can pretend to stand tall when all my knees would like to do is knock together like branches in a rough Alderaani wind. But there are no more winds on Alderaan, or mountains, or people. There is no more Alderaan, and soon, no more me. So snark it is.


End file.
